


Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit

by metonymy



Category: Inception (2010), White Collar
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-16
Updated: 2010-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Inception Kinkmeme, for this prompt by n_e_star: "While researching their new mark, Arthur finds the mark has connection to one Neal Caffrey. Ariadne mentions she had a fling with him. Cue Arthur getting a clue that Ariadne digs older guys in suits."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit

He's got the folder spread out in front of him on his work table, taking notes in his moleskine, when she passes by. Obviously Arthur knows how to do research on the internet - it's vital these days - but he prefers the physical nature of things. Makes it easier to see the connections and links and interplay of various tidbits that make someone tick. And he doesn't think about the photographs of their mark with a man in a skinny suit and ridiculous hat till Ariadne stops behind him, leans over and picks them up, and manages to stab him in the stomach while she's at it.

"Our mark knows Neal?" she says, shuffling the prints with an utter disregard for his system.

"Neal Caffrey, con man, convicted criminal, possibly a better real-world forger than Eames," Arthur replies automatically, then tilts his head to look up at her. "How do you know Neal Caffrey?"

"Oh, we went out for a while. Like a few weeks. He was in Paris doing... something, he caught some dude stealing my wallet and gave me origami flowers. I didn't find out what he did till he took off and left me with a copy of a Matisse and a newspaper article about a theft from a little museum nobody's heard of." She looks down at Arthur and hands him the photographs, lips quirking into a smile. "What, you think you guys were the first criminals I ever met?"

Arthur lets that one go, looking at the pictures with a fresh eye. "He's got to be ten years older than you. At least."

"He only looks older 'cause of the suits. Mm. Nothing like a guy who knows how to wear a suit." And then she's stepping away, back to her drafting table, and Arthur cranes his neck and is sure he catches a blush on her face. He looks down at himself - twenty-seven passing for thirty-five, finespun wool with an unnoticeable tweed, sharply pressed shirt under a slim waistcoat - and he can't help but smile.


End file.
